


Too Late

by Winchester007



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non Consensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-29
Updated: 2013-01-29
Packaged: 2017-11-27 09:14:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/660287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winchester007/pseuds/Winchester007
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dean has nightmares...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Late

It had been over a month and Dean still found himself waking up in cold sweats, still sneaking over and climbing in next to John. And of course his father knew, he didn't turn him away. He welcomed him and comforted him and even Sam came in when the nights were really bad to the point of Dean waking up screaming. It had been an entire month and this was still effecting him. It wasn't fair. It wasn't his fault so why was he being punished. Why did it happen to him. 

But this night, this once specific night, John had to go pick Sam up from the sleep over after Sam got home sick and just wanted to come home. He was sure it wasn't for John so it must have been for him. And when he dozed off, it was the same dream. He would relive the mess, the pain, the torture over and over behind lidded eyes. It was the same man, the same hands, the same rhythm pounding into him as he screamed for John, for Sam, even for Bobby. But it never stopped. It went on and on. He was cut, stabbed, punched, kicked, spit on. full bottles of beer were thrown at him with so much force that they shattered against him and sliced into his pale skin. Maybe it was because he didn't pass his Biology exam and this was some kind of punishment. He was only seventeen and he still had a crush on the girl [her name was Melody... or maybe it was Melissa] in that class. What did they expect when they sat him next to her. He wasn't going to be able to concentrate... 

But this night when he woke up screaming, shaking in fear, no one was there. He panicked and ran around the house, searching for anything. He could feel the fingertips on him, feel the bites and wounds. It still stung. He finally settled for grabbing a brillo pad and sitting under a scorching hot stream on water in the shower. He scrubbed. Scrubbed so hard that his skin turned red then began to peel off. By the time John and Sam got home, he had the tub painted red and there were clear tears running down his face. 

Sam had been the one to find him after John realized he wasn't in the room. His younger brother screamed for John, yelled for help, tears rushing down his own cheeks at just the sight and then there was a rush of dizziness and he was in strong arms. It was a blur of darkness and blood. The coppery scent flooding his nose and spilling to the floor. Every inch of his body was clean though. He couldn't feel the fingertips on him or the bottles or the cuts from the sharp blades. Just the raw feeling. 

But it was too late.

It was over.

And he was gone.


End file.
